


Is Erica and Laura's Doing (with the goal to make Derek even more miserable under the false pretense of friendship)

by sarcasmandirony



Series: What Happens in Vegas [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Vegas, Awkwardness, Drunk Sex, Drunk flirting, Dubious Consent, Gambling, Human!Derek, M/M, Ridiculousness, Strip Tease, Woke Up Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasmandirony/pseuds/sarcasmandirony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura and Erica drag Derek to Las Vegas, to cure a recent (<i>it's been three months, Derek! you need to have fun</i>) heartbreak. He meets Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The dub con tag refers to the drunk sex. Also, Derek is kind of coherced by Laura and Erica into strip teasing before an audience of mostly women and two men. Just, fyi.

It had been Laura and Erica’s idea to let Boyd manage the restaurant for a couple of days, drag him to Vegas and show Derek a good time. Apparently, their ideas of a good time consisted of ditching him in a bench by the side of a fountain, with a drink in his hand in favor of raiding a couple of clothing stores.

Figures.

“Dude?” A cheerful voice asks. Derek turns around to find a young looking guy with a buzz cut and an easy smile, wearing a batman t-shirt, complete with a black and yellow plaid shirt. “Is this seat taken?”

Derek sets his drink in the seat. “It is.”

Derek _hates_ being called ‘dude’.

Buzz Cut narrows his eyes and makes a motion to tip his glass over the edge of the bench and into the cold, hard floor. Thankfully, Derek is able to intervene in time to save his pricy drink. “Hey, this drink was expensive.” Derek tells him as much, holding the glass closer to his chest.

“I’m sorry, but hey, see it by the bright side. Now this seat is available and you’ll have the pleasure of my company.” Buzz Cut notes with a grin.

“It’s more like displeasure. Are you drunk?” Derek asks, scowling.

“Will the answer settle the contest between letting this slide by and punching me in the face?” Buzz Cut asks, oddly carefree.

“Yes.” Derek deadpans, pondering just punching him anyway.

“Well, then, yes, I am very drunk.” Buzz Cut says. “If you want, I can spill your pricy drink over your black henley. I won’t only do society a great favor, but it will also prove my point.”

“If you do that, I’ll definitely punch you.” Says Derek, drinking a sip of his pink beverage by the purple stripped straw. “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?” He asks.

“Actually, I came with those guys, stumbling like fools by the fountain.” Derek turns and, yup, stumbling fools at five o’clock. “Scott, the one with the moppy hair, is actually getting married this week with his high school sweetheart, Allison. Off course, someone has to take those clowns back to the hotel. Today it was my turn. It was settled by a pissing contest. I kind of lost.” Buzz Cut explains with a shrug, unquestioned.

“You are joking, right?” Derek asks, furrowing his brows, unsure.

Buzz Cut bumps his elbow into Derek. “You never know.”

“Stiles, look! I’m without my underwear. On a fountain. Now you can cross being naked on a fountain from your list of things to do before you die.” The one with moppy hair, apparently called Scott, says.

Stiles chuckles, getting up from _Derek’s_ seat. “I guess I’ll see you around, if you are unlucky.” He says with a slight wave, walking towards his friend. “Scott, buddy, it only counts if I’m the one standing naked inside the fountain.” Stiles explains.

“Oh. Then take off your clothes, then we’ll both be naked inside the fountain.” Scott offers, opening his arms and splashing water everywhere, like he was having the time of his life.

Stiles laughs loudly, his laughter doing something funny to Derek’s stomach. It’s probably that stupid girly drink Laura and Erica bought him burning his manhood.

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.” Stiles says, taking a cell from his pocket and snapping a pic of his friend, without clothes, before proceeding to help him out of the fountain and back into his underwear in comfortable amicability. “C’mon, Scott, before someone calls the police. This is not an underwear optional zone.”

“They have those here?” Scott asks, dopey eyed.

Stiles rolls his eyes and Derek decides at least Las Vegas is going to be able to entertain him through his boring nights of being ditched by cruel sisters and ex-best friends.

Only after they’re gone, glass dry to his last drop of alcohol, do Laura and Erica come back.

Laura slides down the window of _his_ Camaro. “Had fun?” She asks with a smile.

“No.” Derek says, sliding into the back seat.

“Why?” Asks Erica, always a tease. “Did people actually talk to you?”

“Oh, that would’ve been awful.” Laura adds.

Derek hates them both. “Yes, they did.” He says, just to shut them up. Expectedly, that doesn’t work, like everything else he does.

“He or she?” Erica asks.

“He.” Answers Derek.

“Normally, baby bro, this would be the time to give us a name.” Laura explains.

“I know.” Derek mutters between gritted teeth, crossing his arms over his belly stubbornly. He _is_ acquainted with normal human interaction, beside what they might imply. “I just don’t feel like talking to you.” He says, starting out the window.

Erica laughs. “You’re throwing a temper tantrum. That’s cute.”

“C’mon, Der.” Laura says, patting him on the leg. “Sorry we left you all by yourself.”

“And we’re sorry we are doing it again tomorrow.” Erica says. “There are too many stores in this town, too little time.”

“If you wanted to shop, you could’ve just left me at home.” Derek grits out.

“Derek, I love you, you know that. I didn’t want to come back from a Las Vegas get away to find you lying dead on a pool of your own tears.” Laura says and Erica cackles exaggeratedly. Derek’s scowl only grows deeper and so does his overly sense of feeling like shit. “So, if you don’t give us a name right now, you are spending the rest of our stay alone.”

“Stiles.” He mutters.

Laura rolls her eyes.

“Derek, you could’ve just told us people were too scared of your scowl to approach. You didn’t need to lie.” Erica says.

Off course they think the name is made up.

_What the hell is a Stiles?_


	2. Chapter 2

Derek walks back to his hotel.

If Laura and Erica think he will stay put for hours on end inside a casino, they don’t know them in the slightest. Or perhaps they know exactly how much Derek hates those places and left him there on purpose.

His bet is on option two.

A shiver goes through him. _Bets_ – they are the whole reason he’s on foot and not comfortably inside the warm interior of a taxi. All his money wasted on some damn slot machines.

Derek’s glad Laura and Erica stole his credit card, even if just a joke for his impulsive behavior while playing poker for chocolate chips.

Apparently he’s just as bad dealing with real money.

Ahead, Derek notices a familiar lanky form walking precariously around the sidewalk. Derek quickens his pace, placing the guy’s arm around his own shoulder, holding his weight and trying not to think too closely about how quick he is to help him and invite him into his personal space when normally his first instinct would be to scatter away from social contact, let alone intimate proximity.

“Oh.” He says, after a surprised wince. “It’s you, grumpy pants.”

“Name’s Derek.” Derek offers, not needing much effort to remember the guy’s name. It’s quite unusual and Laura and Erica teased him about his _imaginary_ friend all night and day. “Stiles?”

Where are they now?

Stiles nods. “I guess you were unlucky.”

“And that makes you lucky. You were about to fall.” Derek says, dry.

“How charming.” Stiles says, looking around.

Derek follows his gaze. “Looking for your friends?”

“Nope, they’re probably long gone by now.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Today was Jackson’s, we call him douchebag behind his back.” He reveals, laughing a bit frantically. “Tonight was his turn to play chauffeur. We call it that because he hates it.” More giggles. If the stumbling or the stink of alcohol in his breath didn’t gave away Stiles’ current state of drunkenness, his behavior left no doubts. Stiles is drunk out of his ass. “He kind of got sick of waiting for us and left, the gigantic jackass! I told Scott not to invite him” He whispers, like anyone in the almost deserted street would hear them. “He would only cause trouble, but he’s Lydia’s boyfriend and Lydia is Allison’s friend. _I_ am the smart one, by the way.”

“Yet, you are the one walking alone back to your hotel room.” Derek notes.

“I’m not alone. I have you. You can chase away any perverts, robbers or killers with just a scowl of your eyebrows.” Stiles says with a smile, like that proved how superior he was. “I am more than safe.”

“I could be any of those things.” Derek points out.

“If you were, we wouldn’t be standing still in the exact same place you caught me.” Stiles says with an up tilt of his head.

Derek snorts. “What were you looking for, anyway?”

“Your white horse.” Stiles says. “Every prince charming has one. But I guess yours ran away with your unkind ways.”

Derek rolls his eyes. Again. He will pull an eye muscle if he interacts with Stiles for long. “Where is your hotel, before I leave you here.”

“Super 8.” Stiles offers.

Thankfully. Stiles’ hotel is in the way. As in, it’s the exact same hotel where Derek is staying with his no longer only sister and his so called best friend.

“I’ll take you there.” Derek grunts, resuming his walk.

“Like I was saying, I’m the smart one. So, in case something like this happened, each of us took enough money to cover for a taxi ride back to the hotel. Off course, we kind of spent it all on the casino. I guess I should’ve thought about _that_. We decided to walk back, but I kind got lost from them.” Stiles reveals.

“Cellphone?” Derek asks.

“My battery died.” Stiles offers with a shrug and grimace.

Derek fishes around his pockets for his phone, handing it to Stiles. “Here. Don’t drop it, it was expensive. You can call your friends, let them be aware you are alright and that you’re on your way to the hotel.”

Stiles takes the phone, looking at him with wide brown eyes, like he’s just now seeing him. “You are actually kind of nice.” He says with a smile, and Derek thinks he means it as some kind of insult.

“Shut up or I’m taking my phone back.” Derek mutters.

Stiles dials the numbers. “Hi.” He says, dragging the word, lazily. “Hey, hey, Scott, calm down, jeez. I’m alright. Still in one piece. No tiny little Stiles bits left around in a ditch or dark alley. I’m heading back to the hotel now.” A pause. “No, you don’t need to keep searching for me and yes, you can go back to the hotel.” Another pause. “Yes, Scott, I’m glad my dad is not going to kill you too.” He looks at Derek and rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you later, bro.”

Stiles hands the phone back to Derek.

“Best friends are kind of a pain in the ass, aren’t they?” Derek asks.

“Tell me about it.” Stiles breathes out. “But Scott is cool, most of the time. He gave me a bunch of his videogames for me to change my best man speech to something a little more wedding appropriate! How cool is that?”

“So, you are the pain in the ass in that friendship.” Derek concludes.

“I guess.” Stiles muses, and then – “Hey!”

Drunk Stiles is a bit more manageable than sober Stiles. A little less smartass. A bit slower on the trigger. A little easier for Derek to get the upper hand and, maybe, Derek’s an ass as well.

Stiles lays his head on Derek’s shoulder halfway through the walk, fast asleep and snorting.

Derek only feels slightly displeased and because now he _can’t_ talk with Stiles. Clearly the airs of Las Vegas are messing with his head.

Arriving at the hotel, Derek shakes Stiles a little bit until he wakes up.

“Hum, what?” Stiles asks, intelligently. “Oh, sorry, I guess fell asleep.”

“Yeah, I didn’t notice that.” Derek says.

“And I slobbered all over your leather jacket.” He apologizes.

“If only there was a kind of washer where I could put it and it would come out neat and clean, I wouldn’t be half as mad.” Derek bites.

Stiles chuckles, nodding. “All right. You are kind of fun when you are not occupied being a surly ass. Or perhaps it’s the booze talking.”

Looking from the hotel back at Derek, Stiles' eyes grow wide, a certain shyness that wasn’t there the night before, when he was sober, comes through and Stiles gulps, stare becoming serious and intent. “Do you want to spend the night?” Stiles stutters out, the words hitting Derek like a train wreck.

“It’s definitely the booze talking.” Derek states, a little dumbstruck.

What surprised him the most is that the idea of following Stiles into his room doesn’t displease him entirely which is just crazy.

Derek got himself out of a bad relationship a few months ago.

He doesn’t need this shit.

Stiles shrugs. “Was worth a shot.” And then he’s climbing the stairs to his room, half stumbling.

Going to his own room, Derek finds himself feeling sorry that he is trying to stop having seven one night stands a week. He reminds himself he always ended up feeling like shit afterwards. Or maybe the fault was more of the general shitty way he felt during that period of his life than of the one night stands.

And now he is trying to come up with reasons with have a one night stand with Stiles – a very drunk, barely able to stand Stiles.

What is up with that?


	3. Chapter 3

The waiter comes back with more shots, setting the small glasses on the table.

“Bottom’s up.” Laura says.

Derek drinks up, the liquid burning down his throat, making him grimace, flames licking at his stomach, warming his insides.

“I think I’m drunk.” Derek says, noticing the peculiar way the artificial light scatters through the glass, forming a rainbow.

“That’s the point, Der.” Laura tells him.

“I miss Kate.” He murmurs, tracing with a finger the lid of the glass.

Laura sighs.

“He has always been an unpredictable drunk. Whether he flirts as smoothly as a schizophrenic cat or he mopes around like a widow on a funeral.” Erica points out.

“Not on my watch.” Laura decides, picking him up from the couch.

“Going home already?” Derek asks, trying to force the world to sit still.

“No. _You_ are going to ask someone to dance. I don’t care if it’s a guy. I don’t care if it’s a girl. You are having some fun.” She says, pushing him away.

“And don’t throw up on anyone.” Erica advises, always such a believer in Derek’s capabilities at not making a fool out of himself. Excuse her, Derek is not _that_ bad.

However, when he steps forward, the room spinning and obliging him to grab the back of a couch to keep from falling, he thinks maybe he is.

Skimming his eyes across the club, looking for a suitable dance partner, no one seems to catch his attention.

That is, until Derek hears a familiar laugh and spots a familiar buzz cut among the crowd.

After some deliberation, Derek decides on an approach strategy consisting of pretending to stumble and smoothly fall on top of Stiles. It shouldn’t be that hard, given his current state.

So he walks into Stiles direction with a sense of determination his march has not.

“Hey, Derek!” Stiles says, with a wave, turning to see him, his tone changing from pleasantly surprised to unsure in the split of a second.

Derek throws himself unto him, too late to change tactics. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.” He mutters, feeling like a complete idiot.

This was a terrible plan. And he thinks he can hear Erica's laugh through the loud club music.

Screw her.

“Of course you didn’t.” Stiles gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, sounding a bit amused. “Now, if only you could get off of me and stop grinding your pelvis against mine like a bulldozer, that would be peachy.”

Derek stands up, not noticing how badly his body was behaving. “I’m sorry.” He says. “I have to go. Do stuff in places that aren’t here.” Derek murmurs through gritted teeth, and he really doesn’t care for his lame ass excuse.

The only thing in his mind right now is finding a hole to hide in.

And surely, when he needs one, there are no hiding holes in sight.

“Wait, Derek, you don’t need to go.” He hears Stiles saying from behind him.

But Derek is already out of the bar, door closing shut behind his back.

He was _rocking_ into Stiles.

In the middle of a public bar.

Derek feels a heat creep unto his cheeks and he doesn’t remember a day he felt this embarrassed. It’s all because of the drinks, which means this is entirely Laura and Erica’s fault.

When Derek returns home, he’ll switch their sugar and salt containers.

That’ll show them.


	4. Chapter 4

“Laura, what is this?” Derek asks, holding a pair of black pants he can barely get into and a gray tank top. “It’s too cold to wear just this, this will smoother my genitalia and where the hell is my under armor?”

“You’ll dress those clothes _without_ complaining and here.” Laura hands him over a pair of black undies. “You will wear that or nothing at all.” Laura tells him, when Derek holds the undies the farthest away from him with two unsure fingers, looking at the underwear like it could attack at any second. “Trust me, for what you are doing, commando is not appropriate indumentary.” 

“And please, Derek, change in the bathroom.” Erica pleads, holding her hands together. “I don’t need to see your flaccid junk again.”

“Erica, don’t remind me of that.” Laura asks, trying to suppress the mental image.

“No one told you to hide my bathing suit, sis. You two had it coming.” Derek says with a smirk, leaving them with the memories of Derek swimming on _his_ pool naked and enters into the bathroom to change.

\---

Laura parks _his_ Camaro by the side of a strip club.

“Seeing me naked is a no-no, but watching a bunch of girls getting up all in my business is an acceptable brother and sister activity.” Derek says, arching a brow.

“It’s ladies night.” Laura informs.

“It still applies.” Derek insists, sensing something is fishy.

Erica slaps him in the back of the head. “Stop complaining and follows us.” She says, the three of them getting out of the car.

“But the entranced is that way.” Derek points out.

Laura grunts. “Derek, do what you’re told.” She says, exasperated and pushes him towards where Erica is going. Something is definitely up with these two. Something that Derek is so not going to enjoy.

Leading him through a couple of halls, they end by the side of a stage.

“Now what?” Derek asks.

“Now, we wait.” Laura says.

“And no questions.” Erica states.

Derek sighs. He won’t decidedly like whatever they have been scheming behind his back. “So, when you were out _shopping_ , you were in a strip club?”

“We were scouting strip clubs, actually.” Laura answers, promptly.

“But just during the second day we ditched you. During the first day, we really went shopping.” Erica informs, smug.

“Good to know.” Derek says.

His best friend and his only sister scouting for strip clubs, which surely must’ve been hard work, for God knows what purpose. One thing was for sure, it was for something evil that will bring Derek embarrassment, physical pain or both with utmost certainty.

“And now, ladies and the two gentleman up front, we have a newcomer today.” A guy, probably a waiter in the club, since a dirty dishcloth is still hanging from one of his arms, announces, the audience clapping.

Horror and understanding wash over Derek.

“No.” Derek mutters through gritted teeth, turning away. Maybe if he is quick enough he’ll be able to dodge Laura and Erica and get the hell away from here.

Laura and Erica bar the way. “Oh, no, baby bro.” Laura says.

“Actually, we paid a ton of money for this, so, like it or not, you _will_ strip and you _will_ enjoy it.” Erica says, almost like a threat.

“It seems our boy is a little shy.” The announcer says and Derek could kill him. He isn’t anyone’s _boy_. “Ladies, I think Wolf Haven needs a little motivation.”

“Besides, Derek, it will be fun.” Laura says as both of them try to manhandle him towards the stage, with no apparent result.

“I can’t believe you used my stripper name from when we were children, _Kitty_!” Derek accuses. “Those were a secret!”

“Wolf Haven! Wolf Haven!” The crowd chants through whistling and clapping, the sounds of encouragement sounding like a death march to Derek’s hears, leading to a painful execution. Thinking about it, an execution would probably be a less cruel fate than this.

Laura makes her trademark puppy dog eyes, who would always make their parents forgive her for her mischieves and to which Derek wasn’t, apparently, immune.

“Fine.” Derek grunts. “Both of you will owe me. Big time.” He says with a pointed finger. Just because he’s complying, he doesn’t have to be content about it.

Resigned, Derek climbs the stairs that lead up the stage.

“Yeah, rock their world, Wolf.” Erica claps.

“Remember, your undies stay on.” Laura yells and Derek gives her the finger over his shoulder.

Appearing on stage, his arrival is met with thundering applause and the song _I’m too sexy for my shirt_ , which is probably the most overused song for stripping and a total cliché, which Derek completely hates and so would be Laura and Erica’s obvious choice for this infernal endeavor, starts playing.

Derek is about to remove his shirt when he hears a familiar voice.

“C’mon, Derek, shake that booty!” He hears Stiles shouting among the crowd.

And, yup, he quickly finds a pair of golden-honey-caramel brown eyes lit by the dimming lights of the club staring at him with a delighted stance, hands shaped like a shell around his mouth.

“Nope.” Mutters Derek, muscles tensing as he leaves the stage.

Until Laura and Erica manhandle him back in.

So, make a fool out of himself by acting like a child while fighting off his sister and best friend or make a fool out of himself in front of Stiles it is.

Why must all decisions in Derek’s life be between the lesser of two evils?

Derek has already lost that battle with Stiles yesterday night, hazy memories greeting him like bad omens this very morning in the mist of a slightly painful headache.

So he swallows his pride and grazes his fingers through the hem of his tank top, slightly pulling it off and revealing the curve of his waist and the patch of hair traveling from his belly button and downwards into his jeans, hips swaying with the hideous anthem.

The shouts of adoration and clapping are nothing more than simple background noise when Stiles licks his tongue over his bottom lip.

Derek takes off his shirt, peeling it from the hem and through his head in a way he knows looks flattering, his torso spreading in a firm stretch of skin and muscles, letting it fall beside his body with a smirk at Stiles’ awestruck wide eyes.

He has nothing to lose now, so perhaps Derek will show him just how well he can shake his booty.

Taking off his shoes, Derek jumps off of the stage, walking over to the beholder of his attention.

“It seems like someone is in for a relatively private show as Wolf Haven has targeted his prey in the midst of the wedding party. Perhaps the bride will have a last peak at the wonders of singledom with this hot piece of man cake before forever entering the realms of beer bellies and bald heads.”

Derek leans his body over Stiles, each hand propped over an armchair. “Hi, Stiles.” He whispers down his hear. “Our last encounter wasn’t exactly smooth –”

“You call this smooth?” Stiles stutters out, voice firm beside everything.

“Fair point.” Derek concedes, pressing his groin roughly against the beginning of Stiles’ thigh and traveling up, Stiles making a disgruntled sound as his dick twitches at the motion.

Derek turns around and takes off his pants.

Or he tries too. The damn things are more of a pain to take off than they were to put in, and it took Derek half an hour for that. But he manages, swinging his hips and wiggling around his ass more than he intends too, but that only seems to make the crowd go wilder, which Derek takes as a small victory.

Looking over his shoulder, Derek sees Stiles is red as a pepper, nostrils flared and mouth slightly open.

Growing confident, Derek climbs back into the stage and runs towards the pole, intent on impressing Stiles with a wild feat of acrobatics.

Off course, his hands slip off of the damn thing and Derek ends up sprawled across the floor instead, his cheeks burning red from equal doses of embarrassment and frustration, his back just plain burning.

Derek should’ve figured. This night was going along too well, a distinct lack of humiliating life moments. “A round of applause to Wolf Haven, at least he tried.” The announcer says, followed by clapping and laugher from the audience as Laura drags him by both his feet away from the stage, Erica proceeding to picking up his clothes.

Yup, this seems more like his life.

Off course, when he’s leaving the club through the staff door, fully clothed and with an intent furious determination of never coming back, Stiles is waiting for him.

The humiliation just doesn’t end, daily shows starring Derek Lee Hale from Monday through Sunday.

“We’ll be in the car.” Erica informs.

“And we’ll have to talk about _who_ is this cute guy and why have you been blabbering about an imaginary guy instead.” Laura says.

Derek has no words. He’s just done.

“Have fun, you two.” Erica wishes, loud enough for Stiles to hear.

“And use protection.” Laura advises with a pointed finger, making use of her big sister voice. If only she had a matching maturity to go along with it.

Derek ignores them, rubbing a hand through his face instead.

“What do you want?” Derek asks, perhaps a little too roughly.

“Hey, hey, you are the one that keeps jumping me in public places. I guess someone should’ve taken my offer for sexy times a couple of nights ago. Unless you enjoy getting the blues which I, for one, do not.”

“You were drunk.” Derek says, blankly.

“And so were you yesterday, which was only part of the reason I refused your advances. The other reason was giving you a taste of your own medicine. I’m evil like that.” Stiles says with a shrug. “What’s your excuse today? Or tonight, rather.”

“I don’t know.” Derek says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My sister and best friend, those two idiots that just left, were the ones that dragged me here. I broke up with a long time girlfriend a few months back. Three months, to be more exact. And you really don’t want to listen to my sob story.” He realizes, puzzled about what exactly possessed him to spill that much, turning away.

A firm grip on his arm stops him.

Derek turns around. He knows he could probably shake Stiles’ hand without much effort, but for some reason, he really doesn’t want to.

The warm touch of long fingers feels good.

“I kind of like a drink with my sob stories.” Stiles cues.

“Are you asking me out?” Derek asks.

“No.” Stiles says, dropping his hand from Derek’s arm. “I’m simply letting you buy me a drink while you let me hear your story. It’s more like charity, really.”

Derek smiles. “Deal.”

Derek and Stiles make their way back to the strip club and sit on a table, ordering some drinks. Derek makes a point of ignoring both the women that approach him to request him for a private session or his phone number and the announcer, who tells him he could have a rather promising future as a stripper.

“So, what are you doing here, anyway?” Derek asks, taking a shot.

Stiles gulps his drink with a wince. “I’m with the bridal party. Scott didn’t want to have anything to do with strippers, saying that he would much rather get a good night sleep to deal with the stress tomorrow will bring, so me and Danny took a ride with the girls.” He informs, ordering two more shots. “And let me tell you, you kind of chose the wrong side of the crowd to cure your heartbreak.”

“Laura and Erica thought it would be funny.” Derek says with displeased affection, holding his head with his hand as he shakes it.

“Then I already love them.” Stiles retorts, downing another shot.

This time it’s Derek’s turn to ask for another round.

“Well, after two shots I guess I’m ready for the sob story.” Stiles informs.

Derek says: “I had this long time girlfriend that was only in it for the money and was cheating me with the pool boy.” He reveals. “Talk about cliché.” And with that he takes another shot.

“You have a pool?” Stiles asks, ordering a new round.

Derek chuckles. “It’s good to know where your priorities lie.”

“Oh, no, I really feel you, man. I would never cheat you with the pool boy. With the pool, well, that’s another matter altogether.” Stiles says, raising both hands like it was inevitable.

Derek kicks him under the table and shakes his head, smile never leaving his lips. “You are an asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah, it keeps me awake at night.” Stiles nods and they both laugh.

“Anyway, they decided to bring me out here to cheer me up since apparently I was moping, which is completely ridiculous and a total lie because I don’t mope.” Derek states with the utmost conviction.

“Yeah, I know. Only the thought of it is ridiculous. It wasn’t like the first time we met you were moping by the fountain side.” Stiles offered which, fair point.

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” Derek says, playfully. Just because Stiles is right doesn't meant Derek would be quiet.

Thankfully, Stiles doesn’t shut up.

They drink the night away, talking endlessly about everything and anything.

Derek is a Dodgers fan, Stiles prefers the Mets. Derek thinks the Justice League is the superior superhero force, Stiles vehemently states the Avengers could kick the Justice League’s butt into next week. Derek enjoys quite, classical music while Stiles fancies Punk rock. Derek is a Sci-Fi fan, of space ships and uncharted new planets filled with unearthly new species while Stiles prefers the improbability and the mystery of Urban Fantasy. They talk about childhood memories, like when Derek and Laura would hide in the woods with cassette tapes of wolfs howling and scared away passerby hikers or how Stiles and Scott once filled balloons with white ink and threw them off the rooftops. Needleless to say, they were grounded for a month and had to pay for the damages from their already small allowances.

And so, when during the walk home, Stiles sees a wedding parlor and asks Derek to marry him, _challenges_ him, Derek is too drunk and too bubbly to think about reasons not too. Besides, he would not stand beside and let Stiles call him a chicken.

He did _chicken noises_!                               

And when Stiles says _I do_ and Derek kisses him softly, he can only think about how this is the best decision he has made in his entire life.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek tries to open the door to the overpriced wedding night suite with only one hand, back pressed against the door while his other arm is wrapped around Stiles’ waist as they trade fiery, languid kisses, their breathes tainted with the burning yet sweetish hint of alcohol – head spacey and the feeling of Stiles’ hands rubbing through his shoulder and brushing against his stubble seeming almost ethereal, as if covered by a velvety mantel of surrealism, like a dream.

Finally Derek manages to insert the key into the lock, popping it open with a gentle turn, their lips only parting long enough for them to come inside and Derek to close it back, keys falling as Derek pulls Stiles back into a kiss, mouths pressing together in a mescal of too much teeth and too much roughness as Derek leads him towards the bedroom, clothes left scattered along the way.

Before Derek realizes, his heels bump into the bed frame and, losing his balance, both he and Stiles fall on the bed, side by side and laugh for probably too long, arms and legs tangled in a strangely comfortable way.

Eventually, Stiles grazes a finger over his chest. “I think we were in the middle of something.” He says, eyes meeting Derek’s, his mouth slightly open in an invitation.

“I guess we were.” Derek replies, voice husky.

Derek kisses Stiles’ shoulder, lips traveling across Stiles’ collar bone and rolls on top of him, biting and licking his way along Stiles’ neck, the younger man moaning under the slight graze of Derek’s teeth, the gentle swab of his tongue and the rough brush of stubble against sensitive skin.

“Derek, what you are doing feels really awesome but you are starting to smoother me.” Stiles complains, with a not so gentle slap to his side and a jolt of his knee.

Derek sits back on his knees with a strangled grunt.

Stiles tries to get up on his own, fruitlessly. “Derek, help me! The room doesn’t want to stay still.” He pleads, holding out a hand.

“I don’t know if I should help you.” Derek ponders.

Stiles kicks him on the stomach. “C’mon, you big idiot.”

“If you ask so gently.” Derek decides, manhandling Stiles’ until he’s sitting on his knees in a quick motion, which has Stiles gripping on Derek’s shoulders for balance.

“You did that on purpose.” Stiles accuses.

“And I guess the slapping, kneeing and kicking were just –” But before Derek can finish, Stiles is already grazing his palms across Derek’s shoulders and pressing their lips together, one hand traveling down and tugging on both their dicks.

Stiles’ grip soon loosens up when he starts murmuring about spiderman and doctor octopus, Derek deciding to take matters into his own hands – literally.

“Hey!” Stiles complains, when Derek slaps his hand aside, voice hitching when Derek pulls and then pushes their cocks, the slide of skin almost inebriating. “I was doing that.” He says, mouth staying open even after the words trail off.

“You are even more random when you are drunk.” Derek accuses, panting and out of breath, his fist tightening and quickening around both their lengths. “Besides, spiderman and doctor octopus don’t even have light sabers, swords _or_ bats.”

“What are you, the canon police?” Stiles mutters, forehead laying down on Derek’s shoulders.

“Superheroes fall under your domain, so I shouldn’t need to police anything at all.” Derek remarks. “I wonder if they have condom or lube in here.” Derek muses.

“Now who is being random?” Stiles asks at cost, breathless.

“We are in the middle of having sex, how is wondering if there are condoms and lube in the room random?” Derek asks.

“How do I know? Dude –” Derek tugs harder at the word, Stiles releasing a shuddering breath and griping Derek’s biceps. “I’m drunk.” He spits out, sweaty forehead rubbing along Derek’s shoulder. “And off course they do, it’s a fucking bridal suite. And you should definitely go fetch them or the confetti is going to pop and this party will be ruined.” Stiles warns.

Derek rolls his eyes. “I better. Your puns are growing lamer by the second.”

“Someone has to provide comic relief!” Stiles shouts when Derek goes for the bathroom, a soft whine abandoning him at his neglected cock.

Derek is the one doing the searching, Stiles shouldn’t complain.

“Don’t you mean a mood killer?” Derek asks.

“Ah, freaking ah!” He laughs out, sarcastically. “Really –” Stiles’ words die down on his throat when Derek inserts his lube slick fingers inside him, laying the condom in the comforter beside them.

Derek works Stiles up, the younger man spreading himself up under the thrusts, pulls, bends and scissoring of Derek’s fingers, Derek listening to the moans, whines and groans that escape his throat, following the rhythmic motion of Derek’s fingers like an orchestra to a baton.

Once the third finger goes in, Stiles writhing and moaning for Derek to just fuck him already, Derek pulls them off, Stiles complaining at the loss yet again.

"You're so impacient." Derek utters while putting on the condom and slicking his hardened cock with lube, spreading it up and down his full length.

“C’mon, Derek, hurry up!” Stiles urges.

“Patience is a virtue.” Derek says, caressing one of Stiles’ butt cheeks, a finger teasing his entrance and Stiles shudders, knowing his pledge will be his undoing. Derek leans down, kissing each one of Stiles’ cheeks and then slobbering his tongue over one of them, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh hard enough to mark.

“Fuck, Derek.” Stiles whines, but Derek doesn’t miss the way he pushes unto the touch, like he’s challenging Derek to bite down harder.

Off course, that’s the time Derek chooses to move on to actually fucking him, straightening his cock with Stiles’s entrance and pushing in, gently at first, with soft rotations of his hip and slight thrusts of his groin, feeling the clench and unclench of Stiles’ muscles around him, hearing the way Stiles’ breath hitches and catches with each movements. “Faster, Derek!” Stiles urges and Derek obliges, finally picking up the pace.

For a few seconds, all the noises in the world are those of flesh against flesh, of Stiles’ moans and Derek’s groans. All that exists are his fingers digging unto Stiles’ waist, hard enough they could bruise and the way Stiles rocks back into Derek’s thrusts, a drop of sweat falling from Derek’s forehead and into Stiles’ back.

And then he’s spilling into Stiles, a disgruntled sound escaping his throat as he stills, collapsing over Stiles’ back and rocking harder and faster, riding off his orgasm, an arm wrapping around Stiles’ upper torso as Derek licks and presses lazy, humid kisses across his neck and jaw.

When the last drop of cum drops into the condom, Derek kisses one of Stiles’ moles resting by a shoulder blade and gets off of Stiles, sitting up and turning him around.

“Hey, you.” Says Stiles, voice thoroughly fucked.

“Hey, you.” Derek whispers back, like a too sudden noise could pop the calm and peacefulness encasing them like a bubble and closes his lips against Stiles’, fist surrounding Stiles’ length and jerking him off until he cums all over himself, throat bobbing up with a silent moan and then bobbing down with a sigh, gasps escaping him with each spasm of pleasure that Derek pulls of him.

When he’s done, Stiles smiles lazily against Derek’s mouth and Derek’s lips tilt up as well.

After silently sharing the same air for a moment, Derek forces himself to get up and walks into the bathroom. “Let’s clean you up and sleep. It’s been a long day.” Derek says, washing a towel and coming back to rub the wet cloth over Stiles’ languid torso and broad shoulders.

Stiles hums contently.


	6. Chapter 6

When Derek opens his eyes, he instantly regrets it.

The dim light washing over the room, coming in through the cracks of the blinds is enough to make his head hurt like it has been hammered repeatedly and the room twirls like Derek has gotten an one way ticket to the inside of a washing machine.

He opens his eyes again, narrowing them and only then does Derek notice the form sprawled across his body. The form of a very naked Stiles sprawled against Derek’s also very naked body.

The night before a complete blur.

And somehow, Derek is not that much worried.

He contemplates Stiles sleeping in the peaceful morning, eyes closed shut and mouth open wide, drooling on his chest, wet, sticky and dry and not as uncomfortable as one might think. He notices the moles in Stiles’ face, the freckles covering his shoulders and the way the two moles by Stiles’ shoulder blades remind Derek of wings.

Derek taps Stiles on the arm, when his own arm, stuck beneath Stiles’ weight, starts to tingle.

“Hum?” Stiles murmurs, a hand rubbing down his face, spreading spit across his chin, his features contorting into a grimace. “My head hurts. It seems like a convention of gymnastic elephants had a group meeting on the top of my head.” He complains, only then looking up at Derek, eyes going wide with surprise, mouth breaking open in a smile. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, you.” Derek answers, having an oddly déjà vu feeling but, as Derek tries to think of it, he only gets an even more painful headache for his troubles.

“I guess we slept together.” Stiles notes.

“What gave it way?” Derek says, sarcastic, motioning over their naked bodies, covered by a few sheets or the open lidded lube and the used condom lying by the end corner of the bed.

“And I guess I should call you hubby from now on.” Stiles remarks, wiggling a finger by Derek’s face, a ring glinting in the sunlight coming through the blinders, holding a promise. 

Stiles takes his arm from over Derek’s shoulders, sitting up.

 Derek does the same.

“We can get a divorce, if you want to.” Derek says, trying to ignore the way their shoulders touch and their knees cross in unspoken familiarity, despite the small frame of time they have actually known each other.

“If our drunken selves taught we should get married, then I think I want to give this a chance, _hubby_. Maybe go on a few dates.” Stiles offers with hopeful eyes.

“I think I’m up for that.” Derek says and he’s smiling. “Just don’t call me hubby.”

“Why? I think it goes well with your grumpy brows and adorable teeth.” Stiles coos.

Derek pulls slightly away, the movement making him a bit dizzy. “That’s it, I want a divorce.”

Stiles laughs, loudly and free.

Derek, he wants to hear to that sound forever.

Off course, that’s the moment both their cell phones decide to ring, which doesn’t do wonders for Derek’s headache and, going by Stiles’ grimace, isn’t rocking his world either.

Stiles grunts. “That’s probably Scott, wanting to know where the hell I am.” He complains.

“Laura and Erica are probably calling to know where I am too, wanting to go back home after figuring out they have stood me up and embarrassed me enough. They will never stop making fun of me for this.” Derek says, dropping his face in an open palm.

“Oh, god, what about Scott? I always made fun of him for marrying the first girl he ever fell in love with. At least they actually dated. And my dad is going to kill me!” Stiles whines, burying his head in Derek’s chest.

Derek puts an arm around him and pulls him closer.

“They can never know.” Stiles decides.

Derek laughs and shakes his head. This is a terrible decision. He knows them by now. Can greet bad decisions by name. “Okay.” He ends up saying, anyway, kissing Stiles’ hair.

At least it will be a bad decision they will be making together.

“My memory is a little hazy.” Stiles informs, lips grazing over the skin of Derek’s chest as he speaks. “Want to freshen up my memory a bit, before I have to go stand through a wedding ceremony?” He asks and Derek will never be able to say no to those eyes.

So he presses his lips against Stiles’ instead.

\---

_From: Derek_

_Where are you from?_

Derek presses send.

He knows he should’ve asked that question sooner. Before they parted ways. Before they slept together. Before they got _married_. But better later than ever. Besides, in the midst of their lazy morning sex and Stiles suddenly realizing that he was late to his best friend’s wedding and that he had to go back to his hotel, panicking while getting into his clothes until Derek pressed him hard against the hardwood door and kissed the worries out of him, forcing his body to relax with nips of his teeth and swipes of his tongue, there was really no time for anything of the sort.

“Why are you smiling like a fool?” Asks Erica, from the front seat.

“I’m not smiling.” Replies Derek.

“Yes, you are, Der. And your lips are doing that strange thing where they tilt down when you smile.” Laura points out.

“I’m talking with Stiles.” He reveals.

Laura and Erica look at each other and roll their eyes.

“You’re talking about your imaginary friend again?” Laura asks.

“What happened with that guy you threw yourself to at the bar or that you basically sexually harassed in the strip club?” Erica questions with a wolfish grin.

“He called the cops. That’s where I was tonight. In jail.” Derek answers back, waiting for Stiles’ reply.

“Then who bailed you out?” Laura asks.

“Stiles.”

Laura and Erica trade a look that both questions and insults Derek’s sanity. But he doesn’t care. At least he managed to get them off his back for now and, with his wedding ring on a string and carefully tucked away beneath his henley, there is nothing for them to notice.

His cell phone buzzes in his hand.

_From: Stiles_

_My cell phone rang during the nuptial march, Scott slapped me, Allison looks like she wants to murder me and everyone is starting at me with judgmental eyes. So, thank you for that, really. I’m from Beacon Hills. You?_

_P.S. I’ll get my revenge for this._

Derek snorts.

He had to travel all the way to Las Vegas to meet someone who lived in the same small town as him. Who both him, Laura and Erica had never met. The last of which thought he was imaginary. And who he was now going to have to pretend he wasn’t married to.

The universe has a cruel sense of humor. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this! You can also follow me [here](http://sarcasmandirony.tumblr.com).


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